My Second Life
by NitnatRide
Summary: Genevieve Snow's family has been killed. The Weasleys decide to take her into their family, and she joins third year at Hogwarts for the first time. Her life lately has been a rollercoaster, but with a family like the Weasleys and best friends like Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, it's going to get even more interesting. Adventure/family/friendship/romance/fantasy/hurt/comfort


**This fanfic starts at the beginning of Prisoner of Azkaban, and continues from there. Sadly, I have not read all the books, so I'll base this fanfic on the films. Please, discriminate against my fanfic simply because of that. By all means, judge me silently, but try not to let it show in your review and try to bear in mind that my boyfriend has vowed to make me read them. Hope you like it. **

**Fly on,**

**NitnatRide**

**Chapter 1: Perfect**

**Ron's POV**

With just a few weeks left before school starts again, the Burrow is buzzing with excitement and activity – excitement from me, because I can see all my friends again, and from Fred and George, because they can show all the new pranks and tricks they've mastered over the summer to _**their**_ friends. The activity is mainly coming from Mum as she dashes around the house, doing what mums do best; worrying. She tries to make sure we all have everything that we have ourselves ready, while we wait for our new Hogwarts letters and equipment lists to arrive, and making sure we have enough clothes and other such stuff. Even Ginny, who has only been at Hogwarts for a year, isn't as frantic as Mum is.

One relatively quiet morning though, as Mum has stopped scurrying long enough to make us all breakfast, a screech makes us all look from our bowls of cereal to the window. It's not unusual for Errol to bring us post, but he only came yesterday, so it must be new and _**important**_ news. The tension in the room grows as we all speculate as to who sent this and what they could be saying…

_Smack!_

…Until Errol helpfully stops our negative thoughts by flying into the bloody window again.

Mum sighs, placing her spoon on the table and walking over to the window, plucking the letter out of the owl's beak and sending him on his way again. She pops open the wax seal and glances over it.

"It's from Dumbledore," she says to everyone – we've all now stopped eating and are looking at her expectantly – and we all frown in confusion as she scans the rest of the letter. Her hand covers her mouth in horror as her expression changes to match, and my leg starts bouncing in impatience.

"Oh, no," Mum breathes, misty-eyed as she looks over to Dad. "Remember the Snow family, Arthur?"

"Oh, yes," Dad replies. "Daniel is an Auror and Emily works at St Mungo's, so I've seen both of them briefly over the years. They're home-schooling their eldest daughter rather than sending her to a school like Hogwarts, aren't they?"

Mum's face remains tragic. "They were, dear, and their eldest daughter was the only one to survive after their house was attacked and burnt to the ground. Death Eaters, by the looks of things."

Even though none of us kids knew the family, a horrified and mournful silence falls over us all, and I lose my appetite at the thought of someone else losing people so close to them. As I glance up at my brothers and sister, our eyes meet in turn, and I know we're all feeling the same.

"Good Lord," Dad says softly. "The poor girl. Genevieve, isn't it?"

Mum nods. "Jenny, for short. She has no family to go to, and her parents' closest friends live up in Scotland. She expressed a wish to go to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore has asked us to keep her instead."

"She can have Bill's room," Dad accepts immediately. "Or share with Ginny if need be. But we can write back and tell Dumbledore we will welcome her with open arms. What year will she be in if she starts at Hogwarts?"

"Third, the same as Ron's," Mum says sadly. "The poor darling is only fourteen. Fifteen in January." **(Is that age/school-year connection right?)**

A jarring thought comes to my head; the image of life without my own parents or family. I shake it quickly out of my head before the pain becomes too much, and again my sympathy for this unknown girl is almost overwhelming.

"Let's prepare for both circumstances," Dad suggests. "We can set up a place for her in Ginny's room while changing the decoration in Bill's room to suit her as well. That way, we can give her either option, and she can choose the one she's most comfortable with."

Mum doesn't answer for a second, staring at nothing on the floor, lost in her own depressing thoughts. Sensing what she needs, George, who is closest to her, reaches over to cover one of her hands with his. His tenderness, normally hidden behind his joking exterior, seems to bring Mum back to the present, and she smiles at him, squeezing his hand before letting go.

"Yes," she agrees to Dad's plan. "Yes, let's do that. We can start today, and we can all help to make her welcome." She glances at the letter again. "It says that she still has the remainder of this week to sort out legal issues and pack whatever she managed to save, so we have time to prepare for her. We can start today."

ЖЖЖ

So over the next few days, we do just that, under the watchful eye and perfectionist instruction of the force that is known as Molly Weasley. Floors are swept, rooms are tidied, cobwebs are disposed of – I let Ginny do that bit – and a few pots of pastel green paint are bought and used to make Bill's former room a little more feminine. We change his red walls to this preferred colour, and shake out some old – but good – bed sheets decorated with meadow flowers against the vibrant green of summertime grass. The furniture, like the small bedside table, desk, wardrobe and chest-of-drawers are all wooden, and so are neutral enough to be used by either a boy or a girl.

By the following Saturday – the day this Jenny girl is supposed to arrive – the house is cleaner than I ever thought it would be while us kids aren't at school. In mid-afternoon, a knock sounds at the door, and everyone stops what they're doing and hurry downstairs to wait for the new addition to our family.

After a quick glance back at all of us – reminding us all to be welcoming and kind et cetera – Dad turns and opens the door, revealing Kingsley Shacklebolt and the faint glimpse of a girl behind his frame.

"Kingsley," Dad greets him, shaking his hand. "Good to see you. Thank you for escorting her here."

"No problem at all, Arthur," the man replies, still not moving from obstructing our view of Jenny. I subtly try to lean to the side, to see around him, but no luck. And there's no use trying any harder to get a look at her; not with Mum glaring at me to be patient.

"Jenny will need to go with you all to Diagon Alley, whenever you plan on going; she still needs to get some supplies. What she has so far are in the trunk she brought on her broom. Word of advice," Kingsley leans closer, as if sharing a secret about her even though the girl in question is well within hearing distance. "Don't try to buy anything for her; she's so kind of spirit she'll argue that it's a waste on your own resources and just buy it herself. You won't be able to win."

Mum and Dad both laugh, obviously pleased with the sound of their new adoptive daughter already. I'll admit, she sounds nice.

"So," Kingsley says, finally moving aside. "This is your new family member everyone, although she'll be keeping her surname. Meet Genevieve Snow."

A smallish, shy-looking girl at 5'5" stares back at us. A Firebolt – a bloody _**Firebolt**_ – in her left hand, her right hand holds her wand, obviously recently used to levitate the large trunk and animal cage, containing a cat, beside her. (Great, a cat in the same house as Scabbers.) Her deep, rich brown hair tumbles in large waves to about four inches below her shoulders, the colour a brilliant contrast to her extremely pale skin. Her full, surprisingly red lips turn up at the corners in a half-hearted, forced attempt at a smile. Wide, innocent doe eyes the colour of fresh grass gaze at each of us in turn, studying her new family. But the pain in her eyes disturbs the innocence; the horrors that she must have seen recently will have changed her forever.

A desperate plea from inside the cat in the cage redirects her attention, and she carefully unlatches the door, letting a tortoise-shell-patterned tomcat out, which then comes dashing into the house to rub up against George's leg, purring. We're all baffled by the cat's choice in saviour after being stuck in a cage – George more so than others – but Jenny looks mortified.

"Tiger!" she scorns, her voice still soft despite her reprimand. "Don't be rude."

I almost laugh at her sense of etiquette; her well-spoken accent and motherly reproach probably means her parents were well-off before….

I look down, ashamed of thinking of the girl's late parents simply in terms of their money. But her maternal attitude towards her cat seems to give her an air of independence, suggesting that she can survive on her own. Or that she likes to be alone, anyway.

George looks back up at her, his chocolate eyes so much like my own meeting her green ones as the latter communicate a silent apology as Jenny's cat – Tiger – ignores her command. But George just grins, leaning down to scratch Tiger behind the ears, who purrs in delight.

"He's fine," George promises Jenny before turning his attention back to his new friend. "Hello, you. You're gorgeous, aren't you?"

He looks up at Jenny again, grinning once more. She shakes her head at her cat before flicking her eyes back to George, and she smiles for real this time, her straight, white teeth showing as she lets out a small chuckle.

"You probably don't remember us, dear," Mum steps in. "We only saw you when you were a few months old. But I'm Molly, and this is my husband, Arthur. You can call us those names until you feel more comfortable calling us anything else."

For her part, Jenny looks pleased to see such welcoming parents, but becomes slightly uncomfortable after Mum says the last sentence, and it takes me a few seconds to work out what Mum's on about. Seeing as we're going to be her new family – effectively – Mum's hoping that she'll treat us as such. That includes calling my parents by 'Mum' and 'Dad'. Because of that epiphany, I can empathise with Jenny's discomfort; she probably thinks that referring to a different set of adults by those close familial names would be disgracing the memory of her own. That's probably what Mum meant by the 'until you feel more comfortable calling us anything else' bit.

After shaking hands with Dad and slightly awkwardly accepting an embrace from Mum, Jenny's attention is directed, by Mum, to Percy.

"This is my eldest in the house at the moment," she explains, her smile a little more forced than before as she gestures to my brown-nosed brother. "Percy."

Thankfully, he just smiles kindly and shakes her hand, rather than interrogating her on her grades so far or, worse, giving her 'his condolences for her loss'.

"Your cat seems to have already made a friend of one of my next eldest, the twins," Mum smiles. "Fred and George."

Fred smirks at George and Jenny in turn. "She actually got the names the right way round this time."

Jenny giggles again. "Yeah, it'll take me a while to figure it out. Apologies in advance for the times when I mix you two up."

George chuckles, looking up from Tiger. "No worries. We're used to it."

My new sister's eyes suddenly become teasing, and she grins at the twins. "So far, the only indicator I have of which is which is the fact that Tiger only seems to like George."

The tension that no one had noticed there before suddenly lifts as we all burst out laughing, while Fred glares at the cat in question for only favouring his brother.

Once we have all calmed down enough, Jenny turns to me next.

"This is my youngest son," Mum explains. _Thanks, Mum; why did you need to point it out?_ "Ron. He'll be in the same year as you at Hogwarts." As we shake hands, I'm impressed with her grip; loads of girls, and even some guys, I've shaken hands with have weird loose handshakes. But Jenny's is firm, more like a handshake for a formal business meeting. Yet another indication of her class.

"And this is my youngest, my only daughter, Ginny," Mum finishes. The two girls shake hands.

"It's nice to know I won't be the only female child in the house," Jenny smiles at my sister. "I was worried I might be overwhelmed by the testosterone."

"You get used to it after twelve years," Ginny grins at her, and they share a laugh. "But I'm glad I'm not going to be alone now, too."

Another silence falls, an awkward one this time as all the introductions are over and no one has thought of the next conversation starter. Luckily, Fred thinks quickly for once.

"Whoa, hold on," he says, staring at Jenny. She just blinks at him, waiting.

"You have a Firebolt," he points to the object in question.

After studying her broom briefly, she nods. "Indeed I do, Fred Weasley. It handles brilliantly, and its speed isn't just a legend. Go on," she says suddenly, unbelievably tossing it to him. "Take it for a test-run if you want."

Fred stares blankly at it for a second. "Seriously?"

Jenny just shrugs, as if she hands her expensive latest-model broom out to someone she's just met all the time. "Sure, just make sure you give others a go. By the look on Ron's face, and George's, they both want a go at least."

Fred laughs breathlessly, not believing his luck, and I glare at him for getting first go.

"Come on," George grins as he watches his twin dash out of the house to the field. "While I'm waiting for my go, I'll show you to your room." He looks down at the cat by his feet. "You coming, Tiger?"

The cat meows in response, and we all laugh.

"Oh," George turns back to Dad. "Shall we give her the choice now?"

"Yes," Dad agrees, stepping closer to Jenny. "We've arranged two different rooms for you, so we could give you the choice. You can either have your own room, on the top floor of the house, or you can share with Ginny. Whichever you're comfortable with, it's your choice."

Jenny thinks for a moment, considering the pros and cons of each alternative. Then she gives a miserable smile, turning to Ginny.

"It's nothing personal," she promises quietly. "I'll probably spend a lot of time in your room in the day. But I'd prefer my own room for now…" she looks down, "…just in case."

Ginny and I are both confused – going by the look on her face – but we all accept her decision, and George gestures for Jenny to follow him, the two of them, and Tiger, going to the stairs and climbing them out of sight.

"What does she mean by 'just in case', Dad?" I ask quietly.

His brown eyes are sad as he looks at me. "Just in case she has nightmares, Ron. She doesn't want anyone to hear her cry."

ЖЖЖ

**Genevieve's POV**

After seeing The Burrow, as it's called, from the air, I immediately know that this is a home. Not a narrow, run-down four-storey **(Is that right?) **shack, as its exterior suggests, but a place for family, for happy memories, for games and laughs and good lives. My heart aches as I think of my own home, filled with the same joy as this one. My own joy. My own memories. My own family….

I push the despair and tears down, stored until the inevitable time when I have to release them – hopefully I'll be alone by then – as George leads me up the numerous staircases to the top floor. The creaks of the old structure seem to fit with the whole atmosphere and surroundings. In a good way though, like the chirping of crickets in my old garden at night.

Coming to a small landing before another flight of stairs, George looks out of the vast window overlooking the house's surrounding wheat fields. His brother's whoops and cheers of excitement can be heard easily as he soars through the air on my Firebolt while Ron watches with an easily-identifiable scowl on the ground, waiting for his turn.

"Fred's good on a broom," I remark, following George's twin with my eyes again.

He grins. "Yeah, we're both on the Gryffindor Quiddich team. Beaters. You play Quiddich?"

"I've played a few practice runs with my friends, but there were never enough of us to make two teams. I've watched plenty of games though, and I've been to the Quiddich World Cup before. I love the game."

He starts walking again, climbing the last flight of stairs before the top floor, looking back at me to smile. "Once you've settled into your room, you should come out and have one of those practice runs with us before we lose all the day's light. As much as I hate to admit it, you're probably better than us on the Firebolt because you're most experienced. We'll tell you if you should apply for the Quiddich team of whichever house you're placed in."

I grin back at him, completely thrilled by the fact that I might be able to play proper Quiddich for a proper team in proper competitions.

George pushes open the door along the left wall immediately after the stairs – one of only two doors on this floor – and reveals my new bedroom. The pastel green walls act as lights in themselves, making the room bright and welcoming. The bed's headboard is pushed against the middle of the right wall, and the bed-sheets are a lush viridian, with beautiful meadow flowers dotted about the surface. A moderately-sized wardrobe sits in the corner to my right, on the right side of the bed, and, on further inspection, has a mirror inside the right-hand door that runs to the bottom of the door. Two drawers sit below the cupboard-part of the wardrobe to be filled with anything that doesn't need to be hung up. A bedside table is on the left side of the bed, with a few more drawers. The wooden bookcase beside that is a little bigger than the wardrobe, which definitely suits my tastes. An impressively-sized window that overlooks the beautiful wheat fields that surround the Burrow is framed by green curtains, and is in an alcove in the wall directly in front of me. A large desk lies just in front of the door along the left wall, and a reasonably-sized chest-of-drawers is behind that. The smell of the wood which fills the whole house makes the place seem like a warm embrace on a cold winter's night.

"So, I hope you like it," George says rather sheepishly after a minute of silence. "It was my brother Bill's before, so we tried to make it more suitable for a girl –."

"It's perfect," I interrupt, embarrassed that I can only manage a whisper due to my throat swelling up. I beam up at George, hoping that he can see the gratefulness in my eyes and that his image blurring is not due to tears.

"Anything you give me is perfect," I repeat, clearing my throat when it cracks. "Green is my favourite colour."

George grins back, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah? Well, that was lucky."

I giggle, bending down to stroke Tiger between his ears. "This will be a good home, won't it, Tiger?" I whisper.

George glances behind him, then turns back to me, nodding his head to the stairs. "Looks like Mum's sent your bags up."

Peering around him, I spot my trunk and Tiger's cage at the top of the stairs, and smile at Molly's kindness.

"You need any help unpacking?" George asks. Despite his cheerful question, I can tell by his tone of voice that he recognises my need to be alone right now. He's just asking that for formalities.

Smiling at him again, I shake my head. "No thanks. I've got it covered."

He nods. "Okay, but if you need anything else, just yell down the stairs and someone will answer."

"Thanks, this is really kind of you all. Now get outside before Fred decides to keep my Firebolt."

George laughs before staring at me curiously. After a few seconds, he smiles one last time, then turns and races down the stairs.

Giving Tiger one last scratch and kissing his head, I stand up and sigh happily, gazing at my new room with my hands on my hips. "Well, better get started."

I draw my wand from the inside pocket of my hoodie, and examine the room again. First I look to the wardrobe.

"Hmm, how much clothes-space do I have?" I mutter to myself, flicking my wand at the wardrobe. As I position myself to look inside them better, the doors and drawers gently slide open. The top wardrobe part is very deep and high, good for dresses and general coat-hangers. But it isn't that wide, so I could put normal tops, T-shirts and casual trousers into the drawers, which certainly have enough space. That'll leave enough space for dresses and smart stuff that needs to be hung up in the main section.

Pleased with my conclusion, I smile and spin to face my luggage again. After I've waved my wand at them, the cage floats to on top of the chest-of-drawers, and the trunk travels to my bed before promptly unpacking itself, each category of clothing placing itself neatly into the areas I had decided before, and other items resting themselves into orderly piles on the remaining space of my bed.

Whilst that process continues, I look around the room some more, inspecting other storage spaces for the rest of my stuff. I start with an easy one, and wave my wand at the growing pile of books – both academic and leisure-related – and then at the bookcase. The books slot themselves onto the shelves and will be automatically joined by any other books still in my trunk. My jewellery – earrings and necklaces and such, already carefully separated in containers to avoid tangling – make their way to one drawer in my bedside table at my command, and my hair brush and accessories occupy the one below, with my make-up below them. My extensive set of stationery situates itself on my desk, along with my iPod and speakers. My entertainment devices – packs of Muggle and magical cards, and Muggle logic puzzle games – go in one section of my chest of drawers.

With one last musical _clink!_, I am unpacked. Looking around the room, I grin and nod my head. "Now, it's more like my room."

A voice suddenly laughs: _"I love seeing you tidy your room; it's so obvious that we both know it's going to be messy again soon enough."_

I join in the laughter, and twirl around to face the source –.

And stare at an empty space where my mother should have been.

My laughter dies quickly, and my smile is dashed out. Dejectedly, I turn automatically to face the picture on my bedside table. My whole family. Mum. Dad. Emily. Me. I pick it up, getting lost in the scene, with Mum and Dad smiling proudly at both of us as they hold us close, my arms around eight-year-old Emily who beams at us all and the camera. We're laughing, euphoric with our love for each other.

A small pressure appears on the bed next to me, and Tiger sidles up, looking at the photo too before emitting a sad cry. Looking at him, we stare at each other, a communication passing between us.

Placing the photo carefully back on my bedside table, I take him into my arms, bury my face in his fur, and prepare myself for a long, heart-wrenching weep.

**So, yeah, hope you liked it :) Just so you know, I'm not great at updating, but if I get enough reviews, it tells me that people are interested in me continuing this fanfic. I have twelve fanfics on the go on my profile, but I have many more ideas on my computer, which I'm debating continuing. The number of reviews helps me prioritise which ones to concentrate on for the sake of my audience. So, let me know your thoughts. Constructive criticism is welcome.**

**Fly on,**

**NitnatRide**


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